A Minor Bird
by inthegalexy
Summary: Irene Collins meets Seamus Finnigan in their 5th year at Hogwarts. Irene will teach Seamus about loyalty and the value of friendship, and Seamus might just teach her a few things as well. Takes place during the events of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix".
1. Chapter 1: For Once, Then, Something

**Author's Notes:** I've been itching to get this started, so here it is! I played with the idea of developing minor characters in Harry Potter, and decided on Seamus Finnigan as my victim- mostly because I love the adorable pyromaniac to bits. I developed my OC, Irene Collins, as a means to connect elements from Seamus' story I felt went missing (and also to justify some of his more questionable actions).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this (if it doesn't get lost among the hundreds of thousands of other HP stories). If you like it, please follow for updates! Also, I'd hugely appreciate any feedback I can get! Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **Sadly I do not own Harry Potter or the amazing wizarding world created by J. . All that belongs to me are Irene Collins and her cat. (Though I'm pretty proud to own them anyway- especially her cat.)

_A Minor Bird_ and all chapter title names belong to Robert Frost.

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"A Minor Bird" by Robert Frost

_I have wished a bird would fly away,_

_And not sing by my house all day;_

_Have clapped my hands at him from the door_

_When it seemed as if I could bear no more._

_The fault must partly have been in me._

_The bird was not to blame for his key._

_And of course there must be something wrong_

_In wanting to silence any song._

**Chapter One: For Once, Then, Something**

Irene was beginning to feel impatient, a feeling to which she was far too accustomed at this time of year.

"And don't forget to write often; your letters were far too scarce last year!" Her mother chided.

Irene simply nodded and smiled. If she was going to make it through the platform portal in time, she had to stop her mother from worrying so much. Every year turned up the same farewell routine, no matter how much assurance was given.

"Well I can't very well write you if I haven't gone anywhere, now can I?" Irene teased, laughing lightly.

Her mother blinked several times to clear up the shine of tears forming in her eyes. Irene knew her to be a strong woman, but these departures always seemed to get the best of her. Perhaps it was due to the knowledge that she was sending her only daughter off to another life. After all, it was a life that Irene could never share, but could only give her brief glimpses of it. Even with all the acceptance and love to support her, she lived in a world beyond her grasp- a world filled with magic.

"I will write, mum. I promise." Irene set down her satchel, wrapping her arms around her mother for a proper farewell.

Irene readjusted her carry-on before reaching for the handle of her baggage cart. "I have to go." She couldn't hide the grief in her voice, but the urgency was apparent nonetheless. She didn't enjoy leaving the comfort of her family. In fact, summers home were humbling in all their non-magical-ness. Still, returning to Hogwarts was always exciting; it felt good not having to hide her magic from anyone, to be surrounded by others just like her.

Her mother nodded, lightly smiling and somehow refraining from doting on her any further. "We'll see you again come the holidays." She said, speaking for herself as well as Irene's brother, who was already settled in back at University.

With a glance towards her mother Irene pushed off, heading for the platform portal hidden within King's Cross. She waved with an "I love you", though it came out weaker than anticipated at barely more than a whisper. She trusted her mother could understand as similar waving and a loving smile came straight back as a final send-off.

Time was running out, and she ran through the brick portal without looking back. On the other side, the Hogwarts Express awaited. Irene felt a rush of welcoming comfort wash over her at the sight of it puffing and smoking in anticipation. Witches and Wizards of all ages bustled about as students said goodbye to their magical parents. She didn't mind saying her farewells outside of the real platform. Still, she often wondered what growing up surrounded by magic would be like, to go through childhood always knowing about your abilities.

When her letter was delivered all those years ago, the Collins household had forever been changed. Irene's father, though a wizard, had wanted to live the life of a muggle, and so he had done. He never told Irene's mother of his abilities or about the magical world before he died, so she was quite shaken up the day the letter arrived. The representative wizard who came to deliver the news had to do a lot of explaining that day, the poor man. After having months to soak everything in, Jane Collins accepted the truth and soon anger and confusion gave way to excitement. Together they learned about a world hidden within their own. Even William- her older brother who generally pretended not to care about anything- had taken an interest in the process. Though now that the shock and awe had worn off, he spent the holidays making wizard jokes and stealing every last bag of Jelly Slugs she brought home. Irene usually didn't mind too much. After all, he was the one going to University and working a muggle job while Irene got to have all the fun.

A loud meow caught her attention. She peeked into the small cage sitting atop the rest of her luggage, making sure she hadn't mistaken the noise for another, as there were many other animals being carted around by students. She was greeted by a pair of alert eyes and another impatient meow.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. We'll be there soon enough." Irene reached a finger through the bars of the cage to scratch underneath the chin of her Balinese. Frost was named after her favorite poet, American Robert Frost. Like Robert, her cat had a way with words, and when he wanted to be heard you couldn't get him to shut up. For now he settled for glaring at Irene.

"When we get to the castle, you'll be free to chase mice to your heart's content." She promised. Frost seemed content with that, and curled into a ball on the floor of the cage.

_There's no way I'll be getting a good seat now_. She thought, rushing to board the train. After searching through several coaches, she gave up on trying to find her friends in Hufflepuff. She stumbled across an empty seat in the next compartment. She shared the space with Gwen Harrison, a Ravenclaw who she knew from 4th year potions. Gwen was a friend, but was rather introverted and quiet, so there wasn't much to talk about. After some light conversation about summer holiday, Gwen returned to her book. Irene decided to change into her dress robes sooner rather than later. When she returned, there was nothing left to be done, and so her thoughts roamed.

She knew that things would be different at Hogwarts this year. And somehow, she had the feeling things would never be the same. After Cedric Diggory's death in the Triwizard Tournament, a fog of paranoia had set in. Her mother had strongly considered keeping her home this year, but with much difficulty Irene had persuaded her otherwise. The rest of her summer had been spent in shock and grief. She hadn't been best mates with Cedric, but she had known him well. A seventh year, he had been 3 years above her, yet always showed her kindness and respect. Irene always used to think someone as handsome as Cedric couldn't be perfect enough to be intelligent, too, yet he had helped her study Transfiguration on more than one occasion. He had often reminded her of William- well, a smarter, kinder version of Will, anyway. Losing Cedric Diggory had felt like losing a brother, and within each house it did feel like family. The Hufflepuff house would be off to a rough start this term.

Following the memorial, whispers of Harry Potter had instantly spread like wildfire. Rumors of every sort made their way around Hogwarts before people split up for the summer. The majority of the Hufflepuff house stood by Harry Potter's claims of _his_ return, save for a few pretentious individuals. Though there had been tension between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff during the Tournament, their house put great value in loyalty and respect. Seeing Potter crying over Cedric's body sent a clear message of those qualities. Looking back, it seemed childish that they had ever doubted his intentions.

"We're here." A meek voice knocked Irene out of her reverie. Gwen was standing, now in her dress robes, looking at her expectantly. Irene gathered her parcel and followed her out.

She walked with Gwen in near silence along the footpath through the woods. She didn't mind the quiet, as she was rather introverted herself. Still, she scanned the trail of students for familiar faces. Finding Susan Bones near the entrance gate, the three girls rode together on the next carriage.

Irene turned to Susan. "Where is everybody?" Although she desperately needed a distraction from her memories, she was genuinely curious.

"Hannah and Ernie spent the ride in the Prefect coach, and Leanne is sitting with Katie Bell and some other Gryffindors. I have no idea where Justin is."

Irene had completely forgotten about her friends becoming newly-appointed Prefects. Hannah Abbott was one of Irene's closest friends, along with Susan and Leanne Thompson. The four girls shared a dormitory together in the Hufflepuff common room, or "the badger-hole" as house members often referred to it as.

"I forgot all about 'Miss Prefect', although I'm not sure how I could have, with how much she talked about it in her letters this summer." Irene joked.

"At least Hannah is modest about it!" Susan added. "Ernie writes as if it was any wonder he'd get the position. I seriously started dreading seeing his owl arrive." Both girls erupted in laughter. Irene could see Gwen smiling beyond the cover of her book. It felt good to laugh with her friends again. If she imagined hard enough, she could almost forget that the events of last year had happened at all.

Later, over dinner in the Great Hall, there was much catching up to be done. Following a warm welcome from Dumbledore, an uptight-looking woman from the Ministry was announced as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Dolores Umbridge had a odd air about her, perky and pink with a dark sort of ferocity underlying her personality. Irene prided herself in being rather intuitive about people, and she felt there was something deeply disturbing about the new professor- well, beyond the fact that she spoke as if to a group of toddlers.

Between bites of roast beef and boiled potatoes, she got to hear even more from Hannah and Ernie about Prefect duties, and learned about a row between Justin and Wayne Hopkins-something about a girl from Beauxbatons and "code violation on the rule of 'dibs'".

Mostly there was talk of Harry Potter. The start-of-term feast didn't possess it's usual cheerfulness; suspicion and gossip were suffocating it. Over at the other end of the Hall, students at the Slytherin table snickered and sneered more intensely than normal. Many from Ravenclaw peeked over shoulders to glimpse at the Gryffindor table, as if they were analyzing an equation or solving a complex puzzle. The tension among Gryffindor was palpable. Harry's friends tried to divert his attention, while others whispered. Some sneered, apparently disgusted with the idea of sharing house-space with a "delusional, attention-seeking liar". _Honestly,_ Irene wondered, _how can they be so naïve? _There were a few in Hufflepuff who stuck by the rumors, though most of them had parents in high position at the Ministry to fill their ears with skepticism.

Zacharias Smith whispered to Agnes Graham a few benches down. Irene shot him a cold glare, but he simply raised his already-upturned nose and continued his conversation. Zacharias, though somehow sorted into Hufflepuff, was known for being a selfish prick, so not many people listened to him anyway.

After the feast, students retired to the common rooms. Hannah and Ernie escorted all Hufflepuff first-years out of the Hall, leaving the remaining students to file out behind. They walked the familiar route that led near the kitchens, down to where large barrels marked the dormitory entrance. Knocking the passcode incorrectly or on the wrong barrel would get you a soak in vinegar. Irene recalled a particularly memorable occasion in which an unwise Gryffindor had tried to enter, sure he would be the first non-Hufflepuff ever to do so. He couldn't get the smell of vinegar out for weeks, and became known as "Rotten Rupert" for the rest of his time at Hogwarts.

Students began filing in through the entrance. Irene crawled through the barrel to the other side, immediately feeling at home. Hufflepuff Basement was truly like climbing into a badger hole, although it was probably warmer and more comfortable than the abode of an animal. The ceilings were low and nearly ground-deep, and the windows gave a spectacular peek at the outdoors. Plants were abundant and varied- thanks to their head of house, Professor Sprout- so when you took a breath, you were breathing in the purity of nature. Greenery rested on every table and flowed over every shelf. It just always felt so cozy, which was why Irene loved the area so much. The rest of the castle tended to be drafty and cold, but their common room always comfortable and warm to welcome you back after a long day of classes.

When Irene got to her dormitory, Leanne and Susan were already inside unpacking their luggage. She followed suit and opened the luggage awaiting her on the four-poster. Frost appeared from under the bed and rubbed against her leg affectionately. She scooped up the cat and petted his head, a loud purr rumbling from his chest like a motorboat. "Now you suddenly love me again?" She said pointedly.

"What's this all about?" Leanne asked from behind.

"I think my cat has a multi-personality disorder."

"Aren't all cats that way?" She joked, walking up to scratch under Frost's chin. The purring in his chest rumbled even louder.

Leanne was a nice girl, although they hardly ever saw her. When she wasn't in the common room or in classes, she was with Katie Bell. Katie and Leanne had been best mates for years since bonding over Quidditch; both girls played as Chasers for their respective house teams. Irene wholly enjoyed the wizarding sport, although she didn't fly well enough to play herself. Unlike in muggle sporting events, women were seen as equals to men, and all played on the same teams. Flying a broomstick was not dependent on muscle, so gender was irrelevant; if you could hold your own, you were good enough for the pitch. Irene respected that.

"Susan got a new deck of cards, we're going to play Exploding Snap when Hannah gets back- try to get her mind off of everything. You want to play?" Leanne asked.

Irene nodded, bending down to set Frost on the hard-wood floor. Hannah had been closer to Cedric than the rest of them, and even with her Prefect position to distract her, she could use a girl's night in.

Later, the four of them sat in a circle on a mustard-yellow rug on the floor. They often played their own rendition of the magical card game; where the loser of each round had to grab from a box of Bertie Bott's _Every Flavour Beans_, much to the amusement of the other players. Several rounds later they were out of cards, giggling so hard their sides ached. Irene lost the most rounds out of anyone, but somehow managed to avoid eating too many nasty-flavoured beans; snagging a cinnamon, two grapefruits, bacon, cranberry, and only one that tasted of over-cooked cabbage.

It felt good to climb into bed that night. Somehow she had feared so much worse than how the day had played out. Things had been a bit tense at the feast, and despite holding their own little game night, Hufflepuff house was still unbelievably solemn. But there was no evidence of disaster, the routine went on as usual- things almost seemed normal at Hogwarts. _Perhaps this is only the beginning. A lot can happen in a year. Last year was testament to that. _Irene thought, the back of her mind nagging, though she desperately hoped she was wrong.

She had to try to be optimistic this year- optimistic and efficient. Their O.W.L. Examinations would take place this year, and she had to work even harder than last year if she was to continue on to N.E.W.T. levels. If she couldn't do that, well, then she could pretty much give up on being a Healer. Future Healers needed to receive at least "Exceeds Expectations" at N.E.W.T. levels exams for Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. She felt confident about her abilities in most all of the subjects, save for Transfiguration and DADA, which she struggled a bit with. Even so, working hard this year was pinnacle to her goals. Before finding out she was a witch, she hadn't been an overly active student, but now having a goal to work towards changed all that. She'd known she'd wanted to be a Healer for years now. When she wanted something badly enough, she fought for it.

There were faint noises as the other girls got situated for sleep. Grabbing her wand off the bedside dresser, Irene dimmed the light coming from the copper lamp hanging above. She left the large quilt at the foot of the bed, for it was still quite warm in the room; Hufflepuff dormitories- being underground- tended to hold in the heat and barricade against the cold. Her wild auburn curls splayed out across the pillow as she adjusted herself. She felt a sudden weight near her feet at the other end of the bed. _Cat_. Irene thought lazily, already feeling drowsy in the darkness of the room. Frost stealthily made his way towards her, curling up in his favorite spot in the curve of her neck and shoulder. He began purring lightly.

"Goodnight." She whispered, as if her cat could understand English- though sometimes it seemed he could. In some ways, when she talked to him, it seemed like she was trying to assure herself of things. Like she needed to hear the words no one else would say.

"Everything's going to be okay." She told herself, just as she was drifting off. "Things can't possibly get worse." Just for a moment, if only for a moment, she believed it.

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	2. Chapter 2: Meeting and Passing

**Author's Note: **Finally, another chapter! Sorry for the wait, but I hope this is worth it! Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** As always, the world and all it's characters belong to J.K. Rowling (except for Irene and her cat, they are mine). However, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class scene, I did take all direct quotations from the _Order of the Phoenix_ book, just to stick with what happens canonically. Just Irene and all her filler thoughts are still mine.

Chapter Two: Meeting and Passing

The beginning of first day of term was fairly uneventful. After breakfast- which proved to be only half as awkward as last night's feast had been - Irene headed off to Potions. She had a knack for detailed work, so it had always been one of her strong suits. It was certainly more interesting than any muggle science class.

Snape wasted no time, though any student who knew him did not expect anything less. Their first task of the year was to successfully concoct the Draught of Peace. Words combined to form instructions on the blackboard as the professor flourished his wand towards it. Despite the early hour, Irene felt a wave of excitement and determination. She set to work on what was quite a complicated potion. Irene enjoyed the challenge, managing to produce a perfect sample of the Draught. Hannah Abbott stood beside her, though her wide eyes and slight trembling of her hands showed her nerves. Hannah was a smart girl, but sometimes her aim at perfection got the best of her. Her potion gave off a more darkened, grey vapor then that of Irene's silver-steaming brew. Though it hardly mattered, for both girls had avoided any criticizing comments from brooding professor seemed rather indifferent towards Irene- well, he was indifferent to most of his students, but he didn't loathe her. In fact, he seemed to show some encouragement in Irene's interest of Potions. Being an unpopular subject among students probably made him hopeful when seeing someone who cared. To be a favorite of Snape's (and not be a member of Slytherin house) was a rarity and a blessing.

All students returned to their seats after turning in Draught of Peace samples to the front of the room. As Snape reviewed the first assignment, Irene made sure to be vigilant and attentive. One thing she knew was that the professor absolutely abhorred ignorant students. To follow his instructions and prove your worth was key, though being too much of a know-it-all never pleased him. Irene had always abided by these preferences; showing promise in the study of potions without drawing unnecessary attention to herself. Perhaps that was why Snape liked her so, as if he saw her introversion and respected it. After all, he wasn't a particularly outgoing man himself.

"If today was any indication, most of you will undoubtedly fail the next lesson, after which we will be observing a range of venom antidotes." Professor Snape stated, though they were already five minutes over the end of the period. "Have twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone at it's uses to me by Thursday. That is all, you may leave."

Students quickly filed out of the room-scattering every which way, though Irene was in no hurry. She didn't mind waiting while Hannah- the only other Hufflepuff in the class-packed up her things.

"I'm sorry- I'm such a mess! Just go on without me." Hannah told her while shoving things into her bag.

The other girl was always so frazzled- it was a wonder she hadn't burst from anxiety yet. Irene assured her that there was no rush. As the girls made their way out of the room, Professor Snape retired up the stone stairwell to his office. Perhaps she would need to address the professor at some point- to receive additional help in preparation for her O.W.L.'s- but she knew better than to bother him so early in the term.

On Mondays, after Potions came Study of Ancient Runes- an elective course which she had eagerly picked up to avoid Divination. Irene had no desire to tell fortunes from tea leaves and sweaty palms. Professor Trelawney, as batty as ever, always seemed to lead all roads back to one's impending misfortunes. For a class that was supposed to be all about the future, there was too much delving into the past. Irene had an unforgettable- and quite traumatic- experience with Trelawney in her third year, when she had pushed her father's death into a reading. As Irene was not looking for a psychologist- or for anyone to resurface painful memories- she stopped taking Divination altogether.

Ancient Runes was not the most thrilling subject in the world to her, but it was intriguing enough. Not to mention it was the only viable option (along with Care of Magical Creature) to serve her elective credit requirements. She knew she would be utterly useless at Arithmancy, and Muggle Studies was not acceptable nor a challenge, given she had been raised as one. But studying runes was mostly theoretical rubbish, and success remained dependent on one's memorization skills, so it wasn't terribly difficult. Professor Babbling (and babbling she was- often completely diverting from the subject at hand) reviewed schedules for the year's coursework. Irene felt as if the hour passed by in a blur.

After eating in the Great Hall, she spent the remainder of her lunch hour in the courtyard so as to take advantage of the warm weather, for it would surely soon be spoiled by the chill of autumn. Irene required some time to herself, retreating from the group in the dining hall. While she was grateful her mates at Hogwarts, she was an introverted being at heart. Sometimes the energy of a group overwhelmed her, even within a pack of friendly Hufflepuffs. She could only imagine how stressful being surrounded by Gryffindors must be- although perhaps that was why she was not a Gryffindor. All those years ago, the Sorting Hat had been quick to judge her character. At first she recalled feeling alarmed at the hastily-decided manner of her fate, but now she had no doubts or qualms about it. In her heart she knew Hufflepuff house was where she belonged, just as she now knew the wizarding world was the place she was meant to be.

Upon noticing the time, Irene rushed off to her next class. With Hufflepuff's own Professor Sprout, Herbology was widely enjoyed by those of her house. It was not Irene's favorite subject, yet Pomona Sprout was such a jolly woman that her joyfulness was simply contagious.

Professor Sprout greeted her students as they poured into the greenhouse, ushering them closer to where she stood. In front of her sat a variety of plants in all sizes.

"Oh, Irene dear! Come closer." She proclaimed, waving her gloved hands to motion her forward. Irene blushed slightly as some of the other students looked at her, but she joined her Professor at the other end of the greenhouse.

Most of class was spent identifying various plant specimen, which gave opportunity to earn some extra house points. Irene snatched up a few correct answers, though a couple Ravenclaws were present to claim the rest. Professor Sprout announced the objective of their next class on Wednesday, an introduction to self-fertilizing shrubs, before dismissing them.

On her way out, Irene noticed Sprout was in the process of flourishing her wand to return the plants she had showcased back to their respective places in the greenhouse.

"Irene, dear."

Irene turned around suddenly at the sound of her name, her wild curls hitting her face. "Yes, Professor?" She answered.

Pomona Sprout was still moving plants with her wand, but her face was on Irene's- gentle and wise. "Good work today. You needn't worry." She assured, a warm smile creasing her aged face.

Irene nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Though career advising was not until the end of the year, Professor Sprout already knew of her ambition to become a Healer. In her second year, Irene had struggled immensely with the death of her father. The discovery of her identity as a witch had somehow managed to repress her grief for so long- when it all came forth, she had turned to her head of house. And while Irene had felt a weight lift from that consultation, it awakened a sympathy in Professor Sprout. Irene wasn't used to receiving so much attention, and she sometimes felt uncomfortable due to it, even though Sprout had good intentions.

Irene thanked her professor with a slight smile and excused herself from the damp heat of the greenhouse. She could feel the breeze running through her hair and tickling her face, though it wasn't yet cold enough to wear a scarf over her robes. She admired the scenery, if only for a short while. To her left, Hagrid's hut was a speckle in the distance, although the chimney was devoid of smoke with it's occupant absent. The rest of the view was uniquely superb from this side of Hogwarts. Wide expanses of vibrantly green hills and the gleam of the lake far off in the distance lay framed by mountains wide and lush. In a matter of months, the castle and all the surrounding land would be blanketed in white- somehow remaining equally as majestic and beautiful. Though Irene was fond of the shades of green produced by the warmer months in Scotland, she couldn't deny the breathtaking effect winter had on it.

With a great deal of reluctance, Irene made her way back inside the castle. She hurried down corridors and up a flight of stairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was only upon her arrival that she recalled her nerves on the subject. With a new professor every year, it was no wonder Irene had a difficult time handling the class. Now in her fifth year, it was the weakest link- and biggest obstacle- standing between her and the chance to become a Healer. She would do anything- pray on the Bloody Baron's grave, of all things- if it meant a good grade in this class. Dolores Umbridge hadn't made a good impression upon first glance, but Irene could only hope to be wrong in her instincts.

In the damp quiet of the classroom, Professor Umbridge sat in a fluffy pink lump at her desk- grinning like a giddy schoolgirl. At first Irene thought she must be late, yet both her watch and the antique clock sitting at the head of the room told her she was a few minutes early. Irene felt uneasy as Umbridge scanned her from head to toe. She tried not to take it personally, for the woman was poised to judge every student that walked through her door. Still, it was rather unnerving.

Irene took a seat next between Justin Finch-Fletchley and a Ravenclaw boy (whose name she thought was Robert). After retrieving materials from her satchel she quickly surveyed the room. The class was quite varied with students from every house, though there were a few more in red and gold Gryffindor colors.

She spotted a few familiar faces, but none were as recognizable as the three that came through the doorway at that moment. Hermione Granger led the way as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley filed in behind her. The trio were known all throughout Hogwarts as being inseparable. Irene often wondered what is was like to be the best friends of the famous (though now-somewhat-infamous) Harry Potter. She could only imagine how trying it must be, and that it took someone of great loyalty and courage to stand by a cursed-soul like Potter, who was always being hunted down by danger. Irene admired Hermione and Weasley for that. Generally she took a liking to anyone who proved themselves to be dependable and unfailing in friendship- for she valued such qualities above all else.

When the time came for the start of class, Umbridge wasted no time in addressing her students.

"Well, good afternoon!" Her voice was chipper, as it had been during her introduction at the feast last night. There was something about her joyful tone- so different from Professor Sprout's genuine optimism- that made it sound forcibly given.

After a succession of half-hearted greetings from the classroom, Umbridge decided it wouldn't suffice. She then proceeded to prod the class into answering louder with feeling, as if trying to teach primary school children to say their "please" and "thank you"s. She instructed everyone to put away their wands and produce quills. Irene had her quill and parchment ready, but had expected to utilize her wand in the lesson. She carefully placed her wand- 12 inches of supple oak wood with unicorn hair core- back in her satchel. Many of the other students groaned but did the same. Professor Umbridge took the opportunity to brandish her own wand to write on the chalkboard. It read _Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles_.

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it? The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year." The plump woman stated, shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

Umbridge went on to explain how no such "teaching incapability" would be present this year, as everything would assuredly be "Ministry-approved". Then she listed the course aims on the blackboard. As Irene read through them, she could only become more skeptical of what was going on. Everything was about "understanding" and "recognizing" defensive magic, but not actually using it. If all their previous professors had been so undoubtedly-incorrect in the eyes of the Ministry, how could doing nothing be the solution to that? Sure, she knew she had never been particularly exceptional at defensive spells, but simply reading about them would be of no use.

Irene was so absolutely puzzled that she had forgotten to write down any of the objectives. Somehow she didn't want to. Justin nudged her arm, looking up from his own parchment to give her an expectant gaze. The last thing she wanted was to be called out, so she picked up her quill, simply trying to forget the absurdity of the words she copied.

When all the quills had dropped, Irene noticed that she was not the only confused student in the room. Hermione, however looked beyond confused- frustrated, even. As the class was instructed to open their copies of _Defensive Magical Theory, _the room became an uncomfortable sort of quiet. Everyone was trying to evaluate their new professor- to judge what kind of teacher she would be. Time passed and Professor Umbridge's lecture went from slightly boring to impossibly so. All that separated Irene from losing all concentration was the shrilling tone of the woman's voice. That, and the hand that shot up from the other side of the room. Hermione sat with a look of disappointment on her face and her hand held high. She had not even bothered to open her textbook, which was an oddity for the studious Gryffindor. Irene was not the only person to find it strange- soon all eyes were on her, and Umbridge had no choice but to stop her lecture.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" The professor asked, though she sounded impatient.

"Not about the chapter, no," Hermione replied.

Their professor proceeded to mention that any questions not related to the book could be addressed after class. But Hermione was persistent.

"I've got a query about you course aims," she added pointedly.

"And your name is-?" Umbridge seemed disgruntled by the outburst.

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger," the Professor stated, her lips puckering to show her distaste. "I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully."

"Well, I don't. There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells," retorted Hermione. Now the class was surely at full attention. Hermione Granger- of all people- was talking back to a professor. It was unheard of, so much so that Irene could hardly believe what was happening. Still she was secretly thankful, for everything Hermione stated was what Irene hadn't had the courage to say herself.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" The woman laughed at the thought, truly giggled like the thought was positively absurd. And that's exactly what she proposed- that the need for defensive magic was irrelevant and the desire to learn them, trivial.

"We're not going to use magic?" interjected Ron Weasley.

Umbridge's patience waned as she snapped at the interruption. "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. -?"

"Weasley," he replied.

She got a sickening sort of grin on her face, making Irene feel even more uneasy. Umbridge attempted to return to the lesson, but there would be none of that any longer. Hermione's raised hand was joined by another- Harry Potter's. For some reason the sudden realization of Harry in her classroom elicited a sour expression on Dolores Umbridge's face. She completely ignored him, however, and addressed Hermione instead.

"Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?" Hermione questioned, her tone a combination of confusion and accusation.

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-" Umbridge argued, her face slowly reddening.

"What use is that?" blurted Harry, who was clearly annoyed. If anyone had an excuse to be upset, it was Potter- the boy fraught with peril year after year, who used defensive magic at every turn to save his life. "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a-"

"_Hand_, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge tried to use her giddy voice, but her frustration was more than obvious. Numerous student hands shot up in the air, now gaining the courage to ask their repressed questions. Harry Potter had unleashed the proverbial cat from it's bag.

Irene did not raise her hand, though Justin had his stretched eagerly high. Instead she sat in silent bemusement. She couldn't understand how wizards so old and clever (as Umbridge had pointed out) could think that a by-the-books method of learning was more efficient that hands-on training. They were experienced wizards, and she was sure none of them had gotten anywhere in life simply by studying books. And she was absolutely certain that no Auror had become one by copying disarming spells on parchment.

The Professor chose a student at random amongst all the outstretched hands. "And your name is?"

"Dean Thomas." Irene recognized Dean's voice before she even turned her gaze to see him, though she must have overlooked him at the beginning of class.

"Well, Mr. Thomas?" Umbridge raised a thin, manicured brow in a disdainful fashion.

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free." Dean replied matter-of-factly.

He was near the back corner of the room, far from where Irene sat. Beside him was a familiar face. Seamus Finnigan lowered his head, but looked at his best mate from the corner of his eye. As Dean spoke up in defense of his fellow Gryffindors, the other boy had a sheer look of embarrassment on his face. Irene tried not to judge people too harshly, but in that moment it was very plain where Seamus stood in the dispute that had divided the Gryffindor house.

"I repeat," The Professor raised her voice to make her reprisal more clear, addressing Dean with a bittersweet tone. "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but-"

"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed- not to mention," Her nasty little chuckle of a laugh reprised. "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

Dean's brow furrowed in anger. "If you mean Professor Lupin, he was the best we ever-"

"_Hand_, Mr. Thomas!" Umbridge screeched.

_Inappropriate to our age group? _Irene was baffled that someone from the Ministry was blinded to the fact that in their fifth year, they were only a short few years from adulthood. Of course, Irene had to remind herself that the Ministry had convinced themselves into believing Harry Potter was a fool and that _he_ couldn't possibly be alive. At least Dean stood up for Professor Lupin, who truly had been the best teacher ever. Irene wasn't even exceptionally good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, yet Lupin had always managed to make his students feel confident and at-ease. Despite her initial reaction to his werewolf background, she wouldn't let that taint her respect for him.

"As I was saying-" Umbridge continued. "you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group, and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-"

Hermione spoke up in retaliation. "No we haven't, we just-"

"_Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!_"

Whatever obsession this woman had with discipline could not be satisfied by delayed gratification. Hermione raised her arm high, but their professor blatantly ignored her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them _on_ you-"

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" Dean blurted, now even more frustrated than before. "Mind you, we still learned loads-"

"_Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!_ Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about."

As academically-inclined as Irene was, she knew what this woman claimed was not at all true. They did not attend Hogwarts to _take tests_. They studied magic in preparation for it's application beyond school, just as the school system of the muggle world prepared individual's for a degree or a career. Not only was their new Professor unbelievably obnoxious, but there were overwhelmingly apparent faults in all her logic. What use was magic if they couldn't apply it to practice? Even if _understanding_ defensive spells got them through their O.W.L. examinations, what then? At the rate Hogwarts went through professors on the subject, Umbridge would be gone within the year. How could anyone survive a N.E.W.T. level course on solely text-book knowledge? Irene's future depended on her success in this class, and she couldn't sacrifice that just because some lady from the Ministry wouldn't teach her the right way. Her ignorance started a fire in Irene- something she was rather unaccustomed to. She felt a tremendous urge to speak up, but another hand beat her to it- someone who, coincidentally, was thinking the same thing.

"Pavarti Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?"

Umbridge tried to assure them that as long as they studied- and studied hard enough!- that they would be able to pass the practical bit of the examination with ease. Irene was not convinced. Judging by the consensus of faces in the room, neither was anyone else.

"Without ever practicing them before?" Pavarti fumed. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" Harry protested.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world ."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?"

By this point, every set of eyes in the classroom followed the volley of arguments between Potter and Umbridge. No one made a sound.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?"

Given the expression on his face, Harry was not amused in the slightest. "Hmm, let's think…maybe _Lord Voldemort_?"

Irene's heart pounded at the sound of _his_ name, though her reaction was not nearly as extravagant as others. There were several gasps and squeals among the students. Being raised a muggle, Irene didn't grow up with the name of the Dark wizard to install fear in her. Of course now she knew all the stories, but her fear was not as intense as that of those who had lived their whole childhood in the wizarding world. Still, she didn't use _his_ name. Mostly she feared the power he held- the power he held to destroy anyone and everyone he chose to.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Umbridge smiled, satisfied to say the words, though she could have taken the points sooner. "Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Professor Umbridge made a point of leaning forward on her desk, her hands splayed across it's surface. If she had any intention of being serious, the high pitch of her voice did her no service.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

But Harry didn't even let her finish. "He wasn't dead, but yeah, he's returned!" He was shouting now, though Irene hardly blamed him. She supposed 'the Boy who Lived' was tired of explaining himself.

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself." The red flare in Professor Umbridge's cheeks returned as she snapped back the threat. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie_."

"It is NOT a lie!" Harry yelled. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" Umbridge squealed. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

The entire class hesitated, Irene herself unsure of what she should do. Just when it seemed to be the end-all, Harry stood from his seat. Hermione tried to restrain him, but to no avail. Everyone was, again, staring at him- he was probably used to it by now.

"So according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" He asked. At the sound of Cedric's name, Irene took a sharp intake of breath. No one at Hogwarts truly knew what had happened that night- except for Harry Potter.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Dolores Umbridge talked through a smile, but there was absolutely no feeling in her voice. Irene hated the way she talked in that moment, more than ever before. She was so dismissive about Cedric. A boy had _died_ and she could only reply with cold words she clearly did not mean with any sincerity. Irene did not- would not- believe that his death had been an accident. If it had been, Harry would never have reacted the way he did, and he would not have defended his story so strongly with emotion.

"It was murder," Harry said, his voice shaking ever-so-slightly. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

Irene could feel her eyes watering, but she refused to wipe the tears away- she did not wish to draw attention to herself. Suddenly she felt a hand on hers. She turned her head slightly to see Justin, his brow knitted and his eyes full of sadness. It was a friendly, consoling gesture, and Irene was thankful for it.

"Come here, Mr. Potter, dear." Umbridge announced in her typical cheery voice, which only made it that much worse to hear.

Harry stormed angrily to the front of the room where he received a small pink slip from Umbridge. She sent him off to Professor McGonagall, and Harry wasted no time to leave the room in anger. After he was gone, the silence continued. No one had any idea what to do or say. There was some light shifting and movement, giving Irene the opportunity to somewhat inconspicuously wipe the drying tracks of tears from her face. Professor Umbridge took it upon herself to act as though none of the events of the past ten minutes had occurred. She went right back to her lesson and- after some initial hesitation- everyone went back to copying lines without anymore debate. Their Professor may have tried to put the disruption behind her, but no student would forget it. With a few known-gossips in the class, Lavender Brown especially, word of the argument would spread across Hogwarts faster than dragon fire.

When class finally let out, Irene was spent emotionally. She felt as though she had been sitting in the drafty room for days rather than a couple hours. Students dispersed from the space faster than ever- although whether it was to rant about all the excitement or simply to get away from unbearable-Umbridge, she couldn't be sure. She mostly wanted to attain the latter, and exited the room quickly and quietly. Although apparently for some people she was not quick enough, as she felt a large shove push her aside and into the doorway. When she recollected herself, all she saw was the back of Seamus Finnigan's head. He didn't even look back to apologize.

"Hey!" Irene shouted. The boy turned and stopped. He looked a bit flustered at first, still lost in his own thoughts. After a moment the anger on Irene's face must have registered. He raised his one eyebrow.

"What? I've got somewhere to be." He sounded inconvenienced, as if Irene owed him some sort of apology.

"Oh, so that just gives you the excuse to shove into people?" Irene replied. She could feel a flush reaching her cheeks. She normally never had such a short temper, but she hated rude behavior she simply couldn't let it pass.

"I don' have time fer this." Seamus said, his heavy Irish accent coming out stronger from his frustration.

"Apparently you also don't have time to stand up for your mates." She retorted. Seamus' jaw tightened, but his face was expressionless. He turned to walk away from her. Irene caught him mumbling, calling her a "mugging gimp" under his breath as he stormed off. Later she would find out from Aedan O'Connor that he had so-studiously called her an "idiotic idiot."

Irene didn't know what had gotten into her, for she usually never reacted so impulsively. Umbridge's class had taken it's toll on her. She felt all wound up, though she was always the person to remain calm and steady in a difficult situation. She told herself she needed time to wind down from the day, and followed Justin back to the Hufflepuff common room.

* * *

As expected, everyone was talking about the events of the D.A.D.A. class at dinner. In fact, she was so tired of hearing about it that she had to bring up something to divert the attention, even if it was directed towards her.

"You saw Dean today? Blimey, Irene, why didn't you say anything!" Leanne was the first to attack, which was unsurprising. "Did you talk at all? Did he say hi to you? What happened?"

Dean had been her date to the Yule Ball last winter, after being set up by an overly-eager Leanne. Irene hadn't been the least bit proactive in finding a partner for the event, and Leanne (with her widespread connections to Gryffindor students) had taken it upon herself to find her one. Without a partner Dean happily accepted, and the two paired up if only out of necessity. Irene had been surprised to enjoy herself at the Ball. Dean was an extremely nice boy, a good dancer, and very charming. They had laughed and danced all night long, and even found many things in common- most prominently that they were both raised muggle-born. And yet despite the amazement of that night, Irene walked away from Dean as a friend. For weeks afterwards, her friends encouraged her to see him again. They claimed that Dean was obviously interested in being more than friends. But Irene let it pass, and after that she did not see Dean again.

That is, until now. Now they had a class together, and Irene hoped that they could become friends, lest she be forced to avoid him all year.

"No, he didn't even notice I was there. He was busy defending Potter and Lupin." Irene replied.

"There's no way he didn't notice you. He likes you." Leanne refuted. Irene simply rolled her eyes.

She admired Dean's actions, yet all she could think about was that tosser Seamus. She couldn't fathom how unkind his actions had been, from the ignorance in the classroom to the shoving, all without taking responsibility. It was all ridiculously, utterly childish. Irene hardly knew Seamus, but what little she could remember of him was from the Yule Ball. She recalled a fiery boy in dress robes, who made far too many bad jokes and danced like a mad man. And she vividly remembered nearing the end of the night when his date, Lavender, tried to snog his face off in a corner. Seamus hadn't seemed to mind at the time. Those were the memories she had of the Finnigan boy, and now it seemed there were only more things to add to his laundry list of redeeming qualities.

Irene was very quiet throughout the remainder of the feast, as conversation had journeyed back to Harry Potter. She tried her best to tune it all out, for words carried weight, and Harry was already weighed down quite enough.

That night as she tried to sleep, Frost curled in a ball near her head, many thoughts and emotions ran through her head. She was disturbed to know that the very last thing to pass her mind was the sour face of Dolores Umbridge, her deception masked in a terrible smile.

* * *

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